Spas are places of peace and tranquility and rich women who enjoy being pampered.
I do not easily blend at such places.
Yet, once a year, when spas have their annual Spa Day sale, my mom convinces me to join her and her friends for a day of awkward beauty rituals.
After filling out a rather probing questionnaire about my health, I was invited back to the facial room, where the facialer (that’s what her job title must be, right?) invited me to put all my belongings in the corner locker, to feel free to use the provided coverings, and to lie under the table’s blanket. She then left the room as I stood stock still, having been thrown by the request to undress.
After all, I was having a facial. Surely that couldn’t be improved by my nakedness present only a sheet away.
I’d skipped on a massage, having learned in previous years that such things were beyond my capacity to handle in a normal manner.
(But that’s another story.)
I decided I wasn’t braced for nakedness (I hadn’t even studied my body in a mirror, so I’d be prepared for what she’d see when the blanket slipped off as it surely would), so slipped my dress sleeves off and scooted under the blanket, making sure to cover any trace of clothing.
My facialer reappeared and went through the normal process of scolding me for not using cleanser (“a washcloth is just an exfoliator, not a cleaner!”) and commenting on my sun damaged skin, always a self-esteem booster.
At which point I got caught in a series of lies about Project Life.
It started when, after she applied a green mask, I asked if she could hand me my phone.
Most clients spend the following five minutes relaxing serenely, but I thought it seemed a good opportunity for an excited face photo shoot.
While perfectly lovely, my facialer seemed somewhat weirded out by me (an effect that I’m rather familiar with) so when she returned I explained I was taking photos because I do Project Life.
She was unfamiliar with the concept of scrapbooking, but finally thought she’d figured it out, saying, “oh, that’s all on the Internet, right?”
I responded, “yes.”
(The real answer was no, in case you weren’t following along.)
See, I have this issue that I find it incredibly hard to correct strangers when they make incorrect assumptions.
This has led to many strange scenarios, like the manicurist I once had to tell about my brother (fake) and his college (GWU – a real school, though fakely attended by my fake sibling) and his fake commute, or when I followed the facialer’s suggestions and was soon remarking on Pinterest and how it’s the same as Project Life.
This is not only untrue, it’s completely non-sensible, but I’m a dreadful liar anyway, so there was going to be confusion regardless of the lie’s direction.
But I did leave with my face looking the same as always, so there’s an upside.
I haven’t told you what happened during the mani/pedi, but that’s going to need a little while to process before I can talk about it.
I wrote my own guest post
But in my defense
I didn’t have a guest post lined up
And I couldn’t wait to share my awkwardness
With all of you,
Equally Awkward Reads